Rubber
by twinkinu
Summary: Mabel had been feeling... far away lately. (A short chaptered fic in which Mabel starts to dissociate, doesn't know what's happening, and struggles with a way to cope when reaching out to family results in a lack of understanding.) my first real fic in years. rated T for mild language and non-graphic depictions of self harm.
1. Things Fall Apart

**12/22/16 _EDIT: I've gone through all of the chapters published so far and revised them, tweaking some issues according to your guy's constructive criticism! Thanks so much for your support and for helping me scrape the rust off my creative writing skills. Happy reading!_**

12/14/16 _EDIT: I went back and fixed some tense issues that were originally intentional but poorly executed. The whole story will be past tense from here on out. Happy reading!_

A/N and disclaimer: I don't see a lot (or any, really) dissociation in fic so I wanted to throw some out there. This does NOT contain dissociative disorders such as dissociative identity disorder, dissociative amnesia, or dissociative fugue. this story will contain depersonalization, derealization, dissociation, and out-of-body type experiences. the closest thing to what Mabel is experiencing is depersonalization disorder, as it is defined in the DSM-5. if you want more information about things like this, the wikipedia page for depersonalization disorder is very helpful. Mabel is not being diagnosed with depersonalization disorder in this story, but this is the sort of disorder that she would be showing symptoms for.

The way that Mabel feels during her dissociation and the way that I write it are according to my personal experiences.

 **I do not own Gravity Falls.**

Trigger warning: there will be some non-graphic depictions of self harm in upcoming chapters. This will NOT involve cutting or heavy bleeding.

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Mabel was feeling... far away, lately.

It wasn't like her. She knew this. Heck, it wasn't like anybody! She'd never heard of anybody feeling this way before. In fact, if she _had_ to say that this weird... _far-away-ness_ she was feeling would be characteristic of anybody, she would probably have to pick Dipper. _Dipper._ And she wasn't supposed to be like Dipper... Especially with the way he'd been acting, lately.

Lately, Dipper had been really, really anxious. Ever since their Great Uncle Ford came out of that portal, obscuring everything they thought they knew about their Grunkle Stan, bringing the author of the journals so much closer but also so much farther from Dipper's grasp, he had been acting all... weird. He was sadder than usual, lately. He was more nervous than usual, lately. He was more brooding, more restless, more crestfallen, shier, twitchier, uncomfy-er... Gosh, he was even _sweatier_ , lately. But he sure as heck wasn't far away, lately. At least, not in the same way that Mabel was.

She had tried to talk to Dipper about her problem once, and he'd been really nice. He'd tried to understand, and he really thought he _had_ understood, but he just didn't. He couldn't.

They'd been sitting on the ground in a clearing in the forest, just enjoying the sounds of nature when Mabel's hesitant question had left her lips. _Do you ever kind of just... get distant? Forget where you are?_

"Mabel!" he'd said, a smile lighting up his face. It was a relatively uncommon sight ever since the night Great Uncle Ford came out of that portal, so it was nice to see. "Mabel, that happens to me all the time!"

"Really?" Mabel had gasped, clutching her little fists hopefully against her chest.

Dipper had nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! Sometimes, I'll get to thinking about Bill, or Great Uncle Ford, or all the fighting, or all the lies and the questions and mysteries, and I just... _zone out_ thinking about it all! I get caught up with all these ideas in my head and I just keep thinking about them and I don't even notice what's going on around me-"

Mabel's shoulders had slumped. She'd averted her gaze, dejected, and after a while she'd interrupted him. "No, that's not it," she'd sighed, hanging her head. Her hair had fallen over her face and into her eyes as she pulled her knees to her chest, watching the ground quietly. "It's not like that."

Dipper had fallen silent, feeling a pang of guilt as he watched her disappointment. He hadn't said anything for a while after that, watching his sister with a concerned frown. After some time of quiet, he'd reached out to gingerly brush her hair out of her eyes so she could look up at him. "Well, then... what is it like?"

She'd smiled weakly up at him, not knowing how to explain it and not wanting to try. Suddenly, she had hopped up to her feet, holding a hand out to help her twin up off the ground. "Come on," she'd said cheerfully, her usual optimistic grin plastered across her face. "Let's go back to the shack! I heard Grunkle Stan is making us a special dinner!" she'd sung, skipping out of the clearing and pulling a laughing, jestfully protesting Dipper behind her.

"Nooo!" he'd laughed, running after his sister anyways. "It's probably just old bread he dug out of the dumpster behind Greasy's Diner!"

Mabel had laughed in return, but as they kept running home, her smile had faded from her face. She had to admit she was pretty disappointed when it turned out Dipper didn't know anything about what she was experiencing. But... she never really thought he would understand, anyway.

Dipper always seemed to be present. Sure, sometimes he zoned off and daydreamed or fantasized or got lost in his own thoughts, but he was still always _thinking_ about something. He was always so real, so sturdy. Even when he was sniveling or sniffling or getting too caught up in his hopes and regrets and confusion, he was here. He was _Dipper_. He was always Dipper.

But Mabel, she was... Well, she wasn't always Mabel.

It was hard to explain. Sometimes, she would be working on a new glittery art project or knitting Waddles a new sweater or eating Stancakes with her family, just doing normal regular things that she loved, and then she'd just be... far away. It had nothing to do with their great uncles fighting each other, nothing to do with the lies and mysteries or monsters or portals or demons or any of that mess. And when it happened... it wasn't because she was thinking. She never really thought about anything when she was far away. No questions or confusion or anger or sadness or _anything_ , just... Far-away-ness.

It was like she wasn't attached to her body anymore. She could kind of observe her surroundings, but she didn't really see anything. She heard noises and stuff, but her brain wouldn't process any information. She could move, but it would feel wrong. It would feel slow. Time would feel slow, too, but not really. She could never tell if it was _time_ that was getting slow or... or if it was just her.

It was like she could see her body, but she wasn't in it. She would look at her hands, but they weren't hers. All association she had between her body and her mind would go away. She couldn't really feel herself, she couldn't really feel _like_ herself. She couldn't really feel anything. She couldn't really feel _real_.

She hated it.

Mabel loved herself. She messed up sometimes, she made mistakes, she had regrets, sometimes she felt sad or angry or confused. But that was part of being alive! That was what made it so great, because for every sprained ankle or stuffy nose or frustrated scream, there was always a song, a friend, a bottle of glitter, a laugh, a twin.

But she was losing herself. It would happen every day, now. Sometimes it would happen multiple times a day. It kept happening, and it was _awful_. Nothing ever triggered it, so there was no way to avoid it, it just _happened_. It was happening so often now that people were starting to notice.

Just last night, she was snuggled in Grunkle Stan's lap watching _Duck-tective_. Dipper was on the floor scribbling notes from the day's activities in the back of Great Uncle Ford's journal, ignoring the show. Mabel was enjoying her time with her Grunkle Stan until the sound of the TV started getting quiet. Distant. The warmth from her grunkle's arm wrapped around her started feeling unnatural. Unreal. Then she stopped feeling it alltogether. She looked down at herself but didn't see anything. She looked up at the TV but couldn't understand what was going on. Or, maybe she _could_ , but... she didn't care to try.

After a while, her eyes started registering that the pictures on the TV were very different from the last time she had seen it. _This isn't Duck-tective..._ She could hear a far-away voice, from somewhere very close to her, speaking.

 _"...awake? Mabel?"_ As if on its own, Mabel's head slowly moved up to look at Grunkle Stan. His brow was furrowed, eyes squinted, a deep frown set in his face. She knew that he was feeling something, but she couldn't quite register what emotion her great uncle was trying to convey. "What?"

"I asked if you were awake, kid." The worry in his voice was clear; if Dipper hadn't gone to bed an hour and a half ago, he would have picked up on it easily. So why didn't Mabel? Why did she seem so... far away?

Mabel looked down at her hands, slowly coming back to her body. "Did I... I don't think I ever fell asleep," she said softly, clenching her hands into fists, feeling her nails digging into her palms. The pain helped a little bit, to remind her that this was her body. To help her feel a little more.

"Yeesh," sighed her grunkle, scratching at the back of his neck. "You're freakin' me out a little here, kid."

"Why? What's wrong?" She was almost completely back now, and Stan did feel a lot better looking into her eyes and seeing that chocolate brown sparkle, even if it was a worried, confused one. At least her eyes weren't empty anymore.

"You've been asleep for over an hour, kid. Or somethin' like that, at least. I sent you two up to the attic after the show, but you didn't get up with Dipper. He tried talkin' to ya, but you wouldn't say anything. Like you couldn't hear him. You were actin' like you were asleep Mabel, but... your eyes were open."

Mabel blinked. Over an hour? It hadn't ever lasted that long before. "Oh. Well... I guess I fell asleep with my eyes open, then, huh?" She smiled, hoping it didn't look too forced.

"Yeah, kid, I guess ya did," Stan said quietly. He wasn't as worried about what happened as he was about that way Mabel was acting. So what if she had zoned out for a minute? Everyone zoned out every once in a while. But why was she so nervous and embarrassed about it when she came to? He pushed the thoughts out of his mind, though; she must be okay. Mabel's always okay. He returned her smile and ruffled her hair. "Alright, it's gettin' late. Hurry on up to bed, knucklehead."

Mabel hopped out of Grunkle Stan's lap, giggling and wagging a finger at him. "Grunkle Stan, you sly rhymer, you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get out of here, before I give you a noogie."

"Goodnight, Grunkle Stan," she called as she ran up the stairs.

"Goodnight, pun'kin," Stan said softly, smiling after her. "Sweet dreams."

Mabel retreated to her room cheerfully, glad to be back to normal and in her own body, but she still felt a little upset. It was as if there were some sort of residue of uneasiness, a pile of leftovers from her little experience back there. She tiptoed into her room, wary of her brother and worried he might still be awake, but luckily, tonight he was fast asleep, an arm strewn over his forehead and one leg on top of the covers, mouth wide open and dribbling onto his pillow. She giggled at the sight of her silly brother and crawled up into her own bed, pulling Waddles in with her.

"Good night, Waddles," she whispered, kissing his snout before falling back onto her pillow, smiling softly up at the ceiling. She let her smile fade slowly, however, when she thought about how she had pulled herself into her own body back there… with _pain._

She didn't like the idea of that. She didn't like it at all, so she tried to ignore the notion as she closed her eyes, got comfy into her bed, and tried to go to sleep. Almost experimentally, she tightened her fists again, muscles contracting as the feeling of her nails digging into her palms heated up her hands, causing her arms to shake. One thing was for sure.. This really _was_ her body. The world around her was truly there, interacting with her. All the sounds, the wind rustling the pine trees outside, her brother's occasional kitten-like snore, her pig's constant and very un-kitten-like snores, they all felt so… not-far-away. They felt _close_. _Mabel_ felt close. She felt real.

She relaxed her hands after a few seconds, biting her lip nervously. A feeling of guilt washed over her, as if Dipper or Grunkle Stan or even Great Uncle Ford would sense what she was doing and accuse her of doing something horribly wrong. "Let's just… pretend that never happened, okay Waddles?" She patted her pig on the back, and he grunted before rolling over onto his side to snuggle up to her more closely. She smiled, comforted by his unconditional trust. "That's right, Waddles... just between you and me."

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 _Please remember to leave a review! This all I have in my sad, empty husk of a life! Now have a nice day!_


	2. Wild Thing

**_12/22/16 EDIT: I've gone through all of the chapters published so far and revised them, tweaking some issues according to your guy's constructive criticism! Thanks so much for your support and for helping me scrape the rust off my creative writing skills. Happy reading!_**

A/N: Waddles is exactly the same as my dog. Just saying. I love my dog so much

Okay, I hope chapter two doesn't disappoint! Also, I hope chapter one didn't disappoint!

(Please read my work. I'm so anxious and my dog is all I have.)

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Mabel woke up in the morning to the sound of Grunkle Stan and Ford's arguing. She sighed solemnly, pulling herself out of bed and changing into her skirt and sweater. Waddles snorted sleepily for a while, as if desperately requesting permission to stay in bed all day. Mabel turned back to face her piglet and put her hands sternly on her hips. "Now, Waddles, don't you want your breakfast?" Instantly, the pig perked up, tilting his head to the side, suddenly perfectly bright-eyed and curly-tailed. Mabel giggled and clapped her hands, inviting him to jump off the bed. "Well then come on, buddy! Let's go downstairs!" Waddles hopped down and led the way, speeding like a tubby pink bullet down the stairs and into the kitchen.

She could hear her uncles' bickering cease as soon as the pig entered the kitchen. Letting her curiosity get the best of her, she stayed on the stairs, out of sight, and leaned forward to listen, anxious to see if they would continue their argument.

They both looked at the pig for a while in silence. Finally, Stan grunted, "Mabel must be up," deciding to stop the argument in preparation for whenever his niece came downstairs to follow the swine. He tilted the frying pan to let an omelet slip out and onto the floor. Waddles squealed happily and vacuumed it up without hesitation.

Ford hummed his agreement with his twin's theory about Mabel being awake, at once understanding their temporary truce. He was currently sitting at the kitchen table, nose stuck in one of his journals, cup of coffee in hand. He took a sip, then glanced up over his journal to see the pig eating. "Is that going to be enough for him, Stanley?" he inquired, ignoring the mild disgust he felt for the way the kitchen floor that _he_ built had become a serving trough for the porcine pet. "Young pigs need a lot of food to grow to a healthy size." He looked back down, not really interested in whether his brother heeded his advice.

Stan looked up at the counter, surveying the options. The one omelet he had already made (and hadn't already fed to the pig) was made special for Mabel, with extra cheese and cinnamon (disgusting, yeah, but that's how the kid liked it). He didn't want to waste that one. Then his eyes landed on the bacon he'd fried up, and he picked up a strip, smirking and holding it over Waddles' head. The pig jumped up, watching the bacon excitedly with pleading eyes.

Happening to lift up his eyes from the journal just long enough to see Stan's stupid grin, Ford scowled at the site before him. "Oh, _honestly_ Stan!" he exclaimed, clapping his journal shut.

"Aw, c'mon," the conman insisted. "It's funny."

"It's in poor taste," Ford argued, putting his coffee down and continuing to glare at his brother.

"It's not like the pig even cares!"

"Well, of course he doesn't care! He would eat anything that he could get his mouth on! But imagine if Mabel were to enter the kitchen and see this."

"If the kid doesn't have a good sense of humor, that's not my fault."

"You are remarkably immature, Stanley," Ford sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She would be absolutely devastated to see this. She adores that pig."

She had no idea what they were talking about, but she trusted her Grunkle Stan to never hurt her precious piggy. Especially after he fought off a pterodactyl for him.

"Alright, alright, I was just jokin'. Yeesh." Stan put the bacon in his own mouth and cracked an egg onto the pan to make another omelet for Waddles. "Why can'tcha ever take a friggin' joke, Ford?"

"'Take a joke?!' This isn't the time for jokes, Stanley! I'm sorry if I don't seem particularly interested in cracking jokes when _you've_ cracked open the entire multiverse!"

Mabel sighed, wishing she'd just walked in right after her pig. She braced herself and walked into the kitchen just as her Grunkle Stan was saying something about Ford's 'stupid little rules' and his 'meaningless arbitrary morals.'

"Now listen here, Stan, just because _you_ find it acceptable to lie, cheat, and steal–"

The both of them fell silent when Mabel stepped into the room. "Hey," Stan laughed nervously, grinning, " _there's_ my favorite niece!" He ruffled Mabel's hair.

Mabel bit her lip. "Are you guys... done fighting?"

Feeling guilty for the way he had continued arguing with his brother despite knowing that Mabel might overhear, Ford got up and went over to his niece, crouching beside her and taking her hand. "You don't have to worry about us fighting while you're around, okay, dear?"

Stan rolled his eyes, but he was glad that they could both at least agree on getting along when they were around the kids. "Yeah, besides, ol' Sixer here was just leavin'," he said.

"Awww, really?" Mabel whined, eyes wide. "Grunkle Stan, you can't make your brother leave!"

"Well, actually," the author smiled apologetically, "I do have quite a bit of research to do. But first I was hoping that I would be able to speak with you about something, Mabel. Something that's come as a concern to me."

"Oh. Uh, okay. What is it?" Mabel blinked up at him, curious.

The researcher took a deep breath, holding Mabel's hand tighter. "Stan told me about your little... episode last night."

 _"F_ _ord_ Stan shouted in surprise.

"I just have some questions," Ford said quickly, defending himself.

Mabel was looking up at him with a confused expression on her face. "Episode?" She tried to put the pieces together. "Oh, you mean _Duck-tective?_ Um, I wasn't paying a lot of attention, but I think it was just a rerun."

"Yeah, that's right, a rerun." Stan gave his twin a significant look. "It wasn't a very good one, either. Now get back down to your lab, Poindexter, and leave her alone."

Ford ignored his brother. "He told me that you zoned out. You didn't hear Dipper when he was talking to you, but you weren't asleep."

"Uhh..." Mabel fidgeted with her sweater, clearly uncomfortable. She craned her neck to look at Grunkle Stan. "Where is Dipper, anyway?"

"He's out with Wendy and her friends. Now, Sixer, c'mon, don'tcha have somethin' else to be doing?"

"Mabel, it's okay," Ford pressed. "You can talk to me about this. Now, did you see anything while you were entranced? Did you hear any voices? Any hallucinations, delusions? Visual, auditory, textile, anything strange at all?" He began talking excitedly, which made the twelve-year old even more anxious.

"En...tranced?" Mabel raised an eyebrow. What was Great Uncle Ford talking about? Why was he so worried? Mabel had just been far away, that's all. But the author kept saying all these words and Mabel didn't really understand what he was trying to ask.

"Quit it, Sixer," Stan warned, a strong, almost threatening tone taking over his voice. "You're freakin' her out."

"Please tell me, Mabel. It may be important. Did you see any shadows, any figures, anything? Even if you thought it was just a dream at the time, you _must_ tell me about it. Any monsters, any demons... Maybe a triangle?"

Mabel realized then what her uncle was talking about. Squinting her eyes and raising an eyebrow, nervousness and anxiety left her mind as it was now too fully occupied by confusion. "What, you mean Bill?" Why was Great Uncle Ford asking her about Bill?

A very grim expression overtook the author's face. "Mabel, this is

very important." His voice was low and urgent. "What did he say to you?"

"Sweet Moses, Ford, he's not in her head!" Stan shouted, unable to take any more. "Leave her alone, will ya?"

"How else would she know his name, Stanley?! This is precisely what I was afraid of when you opened that portal," he accused.

"Bill was here weeks ago, ya knucklehead!" Stan sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "And they already got rid of him! Twice! Now wouldja _let the poor girl go?_ You're scarin' the crap outta her. Yeesh, you're scarin' me too."

The researcher looked down at his niece, realizing that his hands had at some point moved and clamped down on her shoulders. He released her instantly as if her shoulders had burned his hands like a hot stove. He would just have to speak to his brother about their encounters with Bill later. "I- I apologize, Mabel. My paranoia got the best of me." He offered her a small smile, but it quickly faded as he realized Mabel wasn't paying attention. He waved his hand in front of her face, and her eyes followed, but she had no real reaction.

Mabel had been drifting away again, watching her great uncles argue from outside of her body. She started watching Great Uncle Ford's hand moving in front of her face and came slowly back to reality, blinking until his six fingers were in focus. "I... That's okay, Great Uncle Ford. I forgive you."

Ford glanced up at his brother, who was still glaring at him, though now there was something softer, a sort of worry, behind his eyes. The author bowed his head. "Thank you, Mabel. I'll be down in the basement, if you need me." He kissed her forehead, then straightened himself up and gathered his things before heading to the vending machine. He paused before descending the stairs, looking back on her hesitantly, but he saw the way Stan protectively wrapped an arm around her and decided against it. Stan was taking care of her. The brothers would discuss Bill Cipher later.

"You sure you're okay, Mabel?" Grunkle Stan asked her softly.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she answered, leaning into his hug. "Just feelin' a little funky lately."

"And nothin' demonic goin' on in that sweet little head of yours?"

"Nope! Promise." She held out her pinky finger and waited for her grunkle to hook his finger around it. "Pinky promise."

The old man smiled and accepted her offer. "Okay, now I'm gonna go open up the shop," he told her, checking his watch to confirm that it was indeed time. "If you need me, feel free to come get me, okay? And if you ever need the nerd," he added, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the lab, "you know where to find him, too. Sound good?"

"Sounds good," Mabel agreed, smiling cheerfully.

"Okay, now skedaddle," he urged, slapping her playfully on the back. He started heading out of the kitchen toward the front door of the mystery shack. "It's time for me to go do what I do best."

"You mean lying to people and stealing their money?"

Grunkle Stan chuckled, waving his hand back to acknowledge his smart-aleck niece. "I love you, kid," he said before closing the door behind him, officially leaving Mabel the house to herself.

And now that Mabel was herself again, she was feeling _really_ excited about that idea.

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 _Please don't hesitate to leave constructive criticism or point out mistakes! Remember, this is the first fiction thing I've written in at least two years, so I'm a bit rusty on non-analytical non-nonfiction non-essays. Besides, I screw up all the time so I probably screwed up here too!_

 _Have a nice day!_


	3. The Cold Part

**_12/22/16 EDIT: I've gone through all of the chapters published so far and revised them, tweaking some issues according to your guy's constructive criticism! Thanks so much for your support and for helping me scrape the rust off my creative writing skills. Happy reading!_**

A/N: Please remember to leave reviews! I'm lonely and sad and I love to feel important!

Okay, enjoy! Or don't!

That's fine too!

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Dipper was out with Wendy and her friends, so as soon as Grunkle Stan left to open up the Mystery Shack and start letting tourists in, she quickly ate the special omelet her grunkle made her (which was in the shape of a heart!), then ran up to her room excitedly, Waddles hot on her heels.

She flipped on some music and cranked the volume as loud as she could without Grunkle Stan being able to hear it and scolding her for interrupting the tour (it was when the knob was three-quarters between its sixth and seventh little line; she'd gotten in trouble for this more than enough times to figure out exactly where the line is between _'Yeesh, Mabel, don't you think this is a bit loud?'_ and _Hey, kid! As much as I just LOVE your dumb girly music, I'm afraid the people in CHINA might find it a little ANNOYING! Not to mention my CUSTOMERS, for Moses' sake!')._

After setting her Sev'ral Timez CD to the perfect volume, she got out one of her many sparkly notebooks and her box of crayons and colored pencils before diving onto her bed on her stomach, doodling Waddles a fantastic portrait and experimenting with how he might look in a nice tuxedo and top hat– like he was getting married! And maybe Gompers would be his bride! She giggled, kicking her legs in time with the music as she drew. She got about halfway through cheerfully doodling the design of Gompers' dress when her pencil lines started getting kind of blurry. Kind of slow. Kind of... _far away_.

She huffed out a big breath and kept sketching, her art project unhindered, but it felt different now. She watched herself lazily swoop the pencil along the lines of her drawing, just tracing what was already there. Everything was exactly the same on the outside as it had been a couple seconds before, but now, Mabel wasn't the one drawing. It was like she was watching someone else do it, a stranger. It was like everything had gone fuzzy, numb, and nothing was really happening. Nothing really existed.

Her hand drew a line that looked wrong, and she frowned. It reached out to grab an eraser, but instead of erasing the bad line, it just turned the eraser over a couple of times. The wheels started turning in her brain, but she was still depersonalized, out of her own body, watching herself play with the small piece of rubber.

She'd laid awake an awful lot last night even after she tried to promise herself never to think about the pain again. She hated it when she got far away. She hated it so much. And the pain... it had helped her come back. She'd thought about, like, _cutting_ herself, but that was just so unlike her. Even more unlike her than this whole far-away-ness. Everyone would be so mad at her for hurting herself like that, and it wouldn't make anything better... But now, as her fingers ran across the smooth surface of the sparkly blue eraser, she thought about the rug burns she got when she slid her knees on the carpet wrestling with Dipper back in

Piedmont. Maybe that friction could help her come back to reality...

Her right hand took the rubber eraser and rubbed it quickly against the back of her left. Mabel started feeling the warmth as it washed over her, beginning in her hand and spreading up her arm. Warmth quickly turned to pain as she returned to her body, but she kept going just to be sure. Once she knew for certain she was back in touch with reality, she sighed in relief, going comfortably limp as she sprawled out on her bed and tucked the eraser deep into her pocket. She looked at her hand, bright red and peeling, some glitter from the eraser flecked over her her skin.

 _That's okay,_ she thought, biting her lip. _It's just a little burn._ _D_ _oesn't even count._

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	4. A Lack of Understanding

**_12/22/16 EDIT: I've gone through all of the chapters published so far and revised them, tweaking some issues according to your guy's constructive criticism! Thanks so much for your support and for helping me scrape the rust off my creative writing skills. Happy reading!_**

A/N: Kind of a filler chapter this time, but there's some stuff I really wanted to get out there.

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After that, Mabel's day was good for a while. She finished her portrait of Waddles and Gompers, managing to complete it with a full range of colors and outline it in glitter glue. She enjoyed her day around the house, excitedly dancing with Waddles to the music for at least an hour after completing her art piece, then running down to the kitchen to create a masterpiece of a snack to help her recover from the intense dance party. She explored the refrigerator and the cupboards, pulling out milk, eggs, butter, flour, sugar, sprinkles, and everything necessary for an excellent cupcake lunch. As she searched for food coloring in the very back of the top cabinet, she came across something even better.

"Icing! _Yes!"_ she grinned, tossing the small tub onto the counter before spotting the box of food coloring behind it. "Bonus!" She grabbed that, too, then crouched down from where she was standing on the counter and put her legs behind her to carefully find the floor and climb down.

Once safely on the floor, she dumped all the necessary ingredients into a mixing bowl, creating a sugary pink batter which she then poured into little pastel paper cups and put in the oven. While preparing her decorating station as she waited for the cakes to bake, Mabel looked at the clock, realizing she still had hours left on her own before Stan closed the tours and Dipper came back from his day with Wendy. She plopped down on the floor to think about what she would do for the rest of the day, starting to feel a little uneasy about the long, lonely time that stretched ahead of her. Having the house to herself was fun for a while, but she was quickly running out of things to do. She absentmindedly started turning the eraser over in her hand, biting her lip as she considered her options.

Her train of thought was interrupted when Grunkle Stan entered the kitchen, an eyebrow raised at Mabel's position smack in the middle of the kitchen floor. "I'm not sure how to react to this."

The younger twin giggled, shoving her eraser back into her pocket and hopping up to her feet. "What are you doing here, Grunkle Stan? I thought you were doing a tour."

"It, uh, got cut short," he said vaguely, eyes nervously flickering from Mabel to the window, where he could see a few customers running frantically out the front doors, followed by a group of squirrels that Soos was chasing away, a chair held defiantly over his head as a battle cry ripped from his throat. He snapped his gaze back to Mabel, plastering a grin back over his face. "Anyway! I got a few minutes to spare before the next round of suckers comes around. Whaddaya say to some good ole' quality time with your favorite Grunkle–"

"Stanley." He was interrupted by a six-fingered hand being firmly planted on his shoulder. "We need to talk," Ford said from behind the conman.

"Holy _Moses!"_ Stan jumped, spinning quickly on his heel to face his brother. "Hot Belgian waffles, Ford! You're lucky ya didn't give me a heart attack. I thought you were gonna stay down in that lousy lab of yours all day. What gives?"

Ford narrowed his eyes at his brother, slowly lowering his hand back to his side from where it was floating in the air after Stan tore away from the touch. "I saw your customers leaving on one of my monitors. I decided to take the opportunity to come upstairs while no one was around. We need to talk."

"What in the-" Stan stopped himself short, taking a deep breath in attempt to calm himself down. When he continued, it was with lower voice. "What in the… _heck_ would make ya think this is an good time?" With his eyes, he gestured desperately behind him in attempt to communicate to the author that Mabel was right there.

Ford leaned to the side a bit, peering around his twin to offer Mabel a soft smile and wave his fingers at her. She looked up from twiddling her thumbs, pretending not to listen to her uncles' exchange, and she waved back with a big grin.

A twinge of guilt rose in Ford's stomach that he hadn't noticed his neice there, but he couldn't think about that now. There were more pressing matters at hand. He straightened himself out and returned his attention to his brother. "Regardless." He cleared his throat. "I have something that I need to speak with you about."

Stan sighed. He knew how stubborn his brother could get, and he didn't have the energy in him to fight that stubbornness right now. He glanced over at Mabel to make sure she doing all right. "You gonna be okay if I go talk for a minute with my brother, kid?"

Mabel grinned up at her guardian, nodding enthusiastically. "You can go ahead, Grunkle Stan. I don't want you to be in the kitchen when I get to decorate my cupcakes anyway. It would ruin the surprise."

A wide smile spread across Stan's face to see Mabel acting herself again. He reached out an arm to gently ruffle her hair, admittedly a bit unnerved with her mysterious cupcake plans. "Can't wait, sweetie. Seeya later."

"Okie dokie," Mabel smiled, offering a thumbs up as her uncles left the room.

Stan followed Ford out to the hallway, then leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. "Alright, Buttercup," he said dryly. "Your place, or mine?"

Ford rolled his eyes. "None of this house belongs to you," he said under his breath, avoiding eye contact. "Let's go to your room," he decided, feeling protective of his lab and not trusting his twin not to snoop around. He started heading that way immediately, leaving Stan to follow him, arms still crossed.

Once in his room, Stan closed the door behind him and leaned against it, refusing to drop his arms to his sides. "Why didn't you tell me about your encounters with Bill Cipher sooner?" Ford immediately launched into what was on his mind, voice hushed to ensure that their conversation wasn't overheard by anyone.

"Well, _shit_ , Poindexter," Stan replied sarcastically (at least he could curse more freely now that they were away from preteen listeners). "I'm sorry if it wasn't exactly the first thing to cross my mind when I finally saw my brother after being alone for half my life."

"That is _not_ what we are discussing right now," Ford hissed, jabbing a finger in Stan's direction. "Stanley, you need to tell me everything at once. What has he done? How did you manage ward him off? I need to know every detail so that I can decide whether he's an immediate threat to our family-"

 _"My_ family," Stan corrected coldly.

Ford scowled at his brother, an inexplicable feeling starting to bubble up in his stomach. It was like pain, guilt, betrayal, but worse. He suppressed the emotion and otherwise ignored the interruption. "...and so that I can decide what to do with Mabel. What we need is-"

Stan widened his eyes, standing up straighter, defensively. "Whaddaya mean, 'what to do with Mabel?'"

Ford raised his voice, infuriated at the incessant interruptions. "Damn it, Stanley! Can't you just let me speak to you for a single minute without interrupting me?!" He let out an exasperated sigh, reaching under his glasses to pinch the bridge of his noise. He managed to hush his voice a little bit before going on, but he continued in the same manic, excitable manner in which he began. "My God, Stan, it's not like I'm going to _hurt_ her. I love her, too, and I don't want her in harm's way any more than you do. And if Bill has been in her head-"

"He was never in her fuckin' head, Stanford!" Stan exploded. "You keep freakin' her out with all your paranoid demon talk, and I won't have it!"

"You're still interrupting me," Ford accused, but Stan completely disregarded the remark, talking right over his brother without slowing down.

"I mean, can't the girl just be havin' a rough time without there bein' some all-powerful mind demon pullin' the strings? Sweet Moses, she's a fuckin' _kid_ , Ford. Besides, if that son of a bitch _had_ entered her head, like he did Dipper's, she sure as hell wouldn't just be mopin' around-"

 _"What?"_ For the first time since they'd come in, the room was silent. The author's voice was nearly a whisper, now, like he was hanging onto some shred of hope that if he spoke quietly enough, what Stan was saying wouldn't be true. But his voice was also urgent. It was intensely frantic, desperate for an answer but also afraid to hear what the answer might be. In the single word, he had simultaneously conveyed a world of panic and one of denial. "He… He was in Dipper?"

For once, Stan didn't seem to want to talk. He bit his lip, shoulders slumping. He looked down at his feet. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, he was."

The conman kept looking down, waiting for Ford to say something. After a good minute of silence, he glanced up to see Ford watching him expectantly, terror and frustration clear on his face. _"Well?_ What the hell happened, Stan?"

Stan took a deep breath. This was enough for one day. Even if he _wanted_ to spill everything out before his twin, he wouldn't know what to say. "Listen, Poindexter, I'm not gonna talk to you about this right now. Can we save it for later? I've gotta go back to work, and to be completely honest with ya, I don't know that much about it. It's all between the kids." He waited a beat, then held a warning finger up at his brother, his face serious. "But that doesn't mean ya get to go askin' 'em about it, capiche? At least not now. They're too shaken up."

Ford sighed, profoundly annoyed by his brother's decision to steer the conversation on his own course, and ran an anxious hand through his hair. "Are you sure Dipper is okay?"

"Of course, Poindexter. I'm takin' care of him, " he said firmly. He was regarding Ford with an expression that... Well, if Ford didn't know any better, he would say Stan looked hurt. He looked defensive, as if Ford had been accusing him of being an unworthy guardian.

"Now, Stan, you know that I didn't mean to-"

Stan waved a hand dismissively, not interested in anything Ford had to say. "Hurry and get back to whatever you're tinkerin' with in the lab. Before I start lettin' customers in again." They couldn't have anyone see Ford slip behind the vending machine, that was for sure.

The researcher widened his eyes. He hadn't realized that when Stan terminated the conversation about Dipper, he intended to terminate their meeting as a whole. "I'm not finished with this conversation, Stanley," Ford objected, following the businessman as he started to leave the room.

" _I_ am," Stan said decisively, heading through the hall with determination.

Ford opened his mouth to raise an argument, but before he could get any words out, Mabel appeared before the both of them, holding out a plate which held two cupcakes. "I'm done!" she declared. Pink and yellow frosting was smeared across her nose, and her sweater had been showered in a healthy coat of sprinkles.

Both desserts were in pink cupcake liners and were smothered with far too much icing. The sweet on the left had a big red-icing fez drawn on it with a yellow half moon, while the one on the right yielded a yellow illustration of a six-fingered hand. Each cake had been personally drowned in its own generous helping of pink and blue crystal sprinkles. She grinned up at them expectantly, proud of her work. "Betcha can't guess which one's yours, Great Uncle Ford," she said slyly.

A warm smile lit up Ford's face. He got down to Mabel's level and tapped a finger on his chin, pretending to consider. "Hmm..." He reached out to the cupcake with the hand, picking it up gingerly. "This one?"

"Yep!" Mabel confirmed.

"Well, Mabel, the craftsmanship is superb. Did you even add sprinkles to the batter? Thats ingenius," he mused, peeling away the paper to observe the colorful cupcake. Mabel thanked him whole-heartedly before turning the plate to Grunkle Stan to let him take his.

"Oi, kid, talk about heartburn." Stan wrinkled his nose. Mabel frowned, looking down at the floor. "But!" he went on, a certain cheer in his voice. "It'll be more than worth it." He patted his great niece on the head before swiping the cupcake from the plate and taking a big bite.

Mabel looked up at him with a hopeful grin, holding the now-empty plate to her chest. "Is it good?"

"The best!" Grunkle Stan promised through a full mouth.

The girl squealed excitedly, then looked expectantly up at her Great Uncle Ford, who had risen from his kneeling position, still holding the cupcake with careful hands. "I think I'll take this downstairs with me and eat it when I need a pick-me-up. It's too pretty to eat right away."

Mabel nodded in understanding. "I did work really hard on it."

Ford laughed softly. "I can tell." He booped her nose, wiping off some of the icing. "I'll see you later, dear," he told her before leaving to the gift shop to descend into his lab.

"Nerd doesn't know what he's missin'," Grunkle Stan winked, already through with his treat. He licked the icing off of his fingers before walking back out to the shop.

Mabel looked down at herself, almost nervous now that both her uncles were gone again. She wasn't sure if she wanted to be alone anymore.

꙳꙳

 _Please feel free to leave reviews or pm me with any feedback or criticism!_


	5. Better

**_12/22/16 EDIT: I've gone through all of the chapters published so far and revised them, tweaking some issues according to your guy's constructive criticism! Thanks so much for your support and for helping me scrape the rust off my creative writing skills. Happy reading!_**

꙳꙳

Mabel figured out pretty quickly that she must be having a Bad Day.

What was really awful was that today had started out like a Good Day; she had gone through the first half of the day with only one incident, but after her second one, which took place while she was standing in the hallway, shortly after her uncles had left to do their respective jobs, they just kind of kept happening.

Since that, Mabel's feelings of uneasiness continued as the day stretched on. She tried to pass time watching TV or taking Waddles on walks, but without anything to keep her mind focussed she continued to fade away; luckily, however, with her eraser always tucked safely away in her back pocket, it never lasted more than five or ten minutes. After finding her mind reconnected with her body, all that she had to do was take three deep breaths (one for Ford, one for Stan, and one for Dipper), return the eraser to her pocket, and try not to wince too visibly each time something rubbed up against the raw and reddened skin on the back of her hand.

On Good Days and Normal Days, Mabel would occasionally shift out of reality. But on Bad Days, Mabel would only occasionally shift back in. On Bad Days, which have only happened once or twice since this whole far-away-ness started, Mabel struggled to go a full twenty minutes before she started to fade away again. Throughout the day, Mabel's arms continued to reach for the eraser each time the world started drifting away, each time she was swept out of her body and a pair of invisible scissors clipped the ties between her consciousness and her physical form.

Mabel's body quickly got used to the warmth of the rubber eraser on her skin, so as the day dragged on she had to start rubbing harder, frenziedly burning the backside of her left hand in an attempt to come back into existence. And the further away she was, the harder she had to try. She was in her room now, enduring a particularly bad moment (an episode, as Great Uncle Ford had called it) when she heard steps ascending the stairs. She frantically looked up at the clock on the wall, terrified to see that it was already past five o'clock. Dipper had promised Grunkle Stan that he would be home by five o'clock. Had the day really gone by that quickly? Mabel had no concept of time when she was far away. Her thoughts started racing, but she was drifting even further away. She started rubbing her hand furiously, desperate to get back before Dipper came into their room and saw her.

Eventually, the warmth started seeping into her skin, rising up her arm, starting to sting, then starting to hurt, then starting to _really_ hurt and then Mabel was back in her body. She shoved the eraser into her pocket and quickly started to wipe the eraser shavings off the back of her hand.

She whimpered in pain when she touched the raw skin and looked down to see just how bad it was. The flesh was bright pink, peeling in areas. Small patches of red dotted her hand in areas where the eraser had eroded enough of her skin to see the blood underneath it. She chewed on her lip. Had she really done this to herself? She didn't realize it was getting this bad, and it had only been a day. She would have to be more careful, or else Dipper would notice and it would look like she had been hurting herself (which she wasn't– this wasn't self harm, not really; it absolutely was not) and he would tell Grunkle Stan and Great Uncle Ford and they would be mad at her and _disappointed_ in her and—

Their bedroom door creaking open is what rescued Mabel from her thoughts. Dipper held up a hand with a small smile. "Hey, Mabel."

"Dipper!" she grinned brightly. Her nagging anxieties all but vanished, pushed out by the warm joy that she felt seeing her twin for the first time that day. She sat up and ran to hug him, hands concealed by the oversized sleeves of her sweater. "I missed you, bro-bro! This place is so boring when I'm all by myself!"

He hugged back, glad to see his sister acting like herself. "Sorry, Mabel. I missed you, too." He smiled warily. "Wendy said I should've invited you, but I didn't wanna wake you up. I, uh, I figured you probably needed your sleep, after..." He trailed off, not sure what to say or how to describe it.

Mabel frowned for a moment, remembering what Grunkle Stan had told her last night. Last time Dipper saw her, she was far away. He'd spoken to her, but she hadn't heard him. She hadn't answered. Now, she pulled back from the hug, smile back in place, and punched her brother playfully on the shoulder. "Awh, you should've woke me up! You know I'm always up for a day out with some teen hooligans."

"Yeah, I know," Dipper said, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "Sorry, Mabel."

"Shut up, Dippy. Let's go see if we can annoy Grunkle Stan enough to get him to close the shack early. Then maybe he'll make us dinner!"

"Or order us pizza?" Dipper suggested, a smile stretching across his face.

Mabel struck a triumphant pose, right hand shooting up in a heroic fist while her left one rested on her hip. "Yes! Onward, to the pizza!" Dipper laughed and grabbed her hand, eager to run downstairs. Before she could suppress her reaction, she yelped in pain, tearing her hand away and inhaling sharply through her teeth. _"Ouch ouch ouch,"_ she panted, pulling her hand to her chest. But then, she caught herself, face flushed as she looked over to Dipper.

The boy's brow was furrowed in concern, his eyes wide in astonishment and apology. "Are- is your hand okay?"

"Uh, yeah," she said unconvincingly, laughing softly with a nervous smile. She put her hands on her hips as if she had nothing to hide, playing dumb. "What are you- Of course it's okay, what do you mean?"

 _"Mabel."_ Dipper's face was seriously worried now, and his voice was firm. He took a step toward her. "What's wrong?"

"I burnt my hand on the oven." The lie came out of her mouth quickly; Mabel hardly had to think about it. She immediately felt guilt for lying to her brother, but she didn't want him to worry. Plus, she already knew that he didn't understand, so telling him would just frustrate him and make him feel bad. "It's okay now. Great Uncle Ford put bandaids on it for me, but it still hurts to touch." The lies just kept coming.

Dipper frowned, but stepped back, relaxing a little. "Oh. I'm sorry– here." He hops over to Mabel's other side and takes hold of her right hand, smiling at her. "Better?"

Mabel nodded, guilty but relieved at the same. "Better," she confirmed. "Now let's go get our pizza."

The twins stumbled down the stairs laughing and pulling each other along, headed excitedly toward the Mystery Shack's gift shop, dead set on forcing their grunkle to order them some pizza.

꙳꙳

 _Please don't hesitate to leave reviews or pm me with critiques or requests for some one-shots to write up!_


	6. Whenever You Breathe Out, I Breathe In

**_12/22/16 EDIT: I've gone through all of the chapters published so far and revised them, tweaking some issues according to your guy's constructive criticism! Thanks so much for your support and for helping me scrape the rust off my creative writing skills. Happy reading!_**

A/N: things are getting tense, it seems... only a couple more chapters to go! thank you for those of you who have been reading, and please remember to leave a review or pm me!

꙳꙳

As weeks passed by, Mabel began to deteriorate, Bad Days rearing their ugly heads with increasing frequency. Mabel's far-away-ness started to pull her from her physical body more and more often, obscuring her surroundings and blocking her senses with more and more resolve each time.

Eventually, she stopped returning to her normal, colorful, optimistic self alltogether. She started coming back only halfway, still distant and quiet, still slow and sleepy. The lines between far-away-ness and reality were beginning to blur, as if she were stuck in a permanent limbo between consciousness and ghost-like separation, and as the lines grew less distinct, she began using her eraser with less restraint.

Her left hand was rubbed so raw that she had to start erasing herself from the wrist, then the elbow, then the shoulder. Her entire arm was chapped, red, and peeling, and several large, oblong scabs began to form on the back of her hand as the older friction burns started to heal.

Mabel could see herself falling apart, but she was too far away to stop it. She couldn't get back under control. Everything was strange to her, and she didn't know herself anymore.

She was in her room now, staring at the ceiling with Waddles asleep on her stomach. The little blue eraser was heavy in her back pocket.

.꙳.꙳.꙳.꙳.

"I'm worried about Mabel," Dipper finally said, breaking the thick tension in the room where he and his uncle sat, a program playing on the TV that neither of them were watching.

They had been tiptoeing around the issue for weeks, occasionally asking Mabel if she was okay (which she always answered with an unconvincing 'yes' before retiring to her room, leaving her twin and her grunkle to exchange deeply concerned looks) but refusing to verbally acknowledge to each other that something was clearly wrong. Dipper was done hoping that Mabel would come back by herself. He was done waiting around. He wanted his sister back.

"I'm worried about her too," Grunkle Stan whispered, painfully honest.

"I miss her, Grunkle Stan," he went on, desperate. "I don't want to pretend she's okay anymore. It's not working. I want her to get better. I miss her so bad, but I don't know how to help."

Stan looked at his great nephew and felt painful nostalgia rising in the pit of his stomach, burning the back of his throat and building pressure behind his eyes. "You look so much like Fordsie sometimes, you know that?" His voice was so soft that Dipper had to strain to hear what he'd said.

Dipper frowned, a worry line creasing his forehead as he furrowed his brows almost angrily, wishing his uncle could stay on topic. "What?"

Grunkle Stan's mind was drifting to a time when he and Ford were about the same age as the niblings were now, just a year or two older, and Stan had been drowning quickly under the pressure that highschool was bringing.

Ma. _'Your grades will start mattering from this point forward, Stanley. You're going to have to start doing better.'_

Dad. _'You can't waste any more of your brother's time with that idiotic project. He has more important things to be doing than pretending you're worth his time.'_

Ma. _'Stanley, I'm just calling to let you know your father received a phone call from the school about all the classes you skipped. He's... not happy.'_

Dad. _'Look at me, Stanley. Look at me when I'm talking to you. You're fourteen years old and it's about damn time that you learned some fucking respect. Next time you come home with a grade like this, I won't go so easy on you.'_

Ford. _'Lee, you've been so quiet lately. Are you sure you're okay?'_

Stan. _'Yeah, I'm fine.'_

Ford had looked so worried, so anxious all the time. He would watch Stan carefully whenever they were together as if he were a time bomb, nervous that Stan would go off at any second and break down. The way he looked at him was the same way that Dipper was looking at Mabel, lately.

"Talk to her," the conman said after a moment of silence.

"I've _tried_ that, Grunkle Stan! She won't talk to me."

Ford. _'Hey, Lee, do you have a minute?'_

Stan. _'Go away, Sixer. I don't wanna talk.'_

Ford. _I didn't ask if you wanted to talk. I asked if you had a minute.'_

Grunkle Stan leaned forward and put a large, comforting hand on Dipper's head. "So try harder, kid. If she pushes you away, push back harder. She needs her brother right now."

The younger boy groaned, burying his head in his hands. "What if I just make it worse?"

Ford. _'You_ _wanna copy off of my homework?'_

Stan. _'What, you think I can't do it myself? You think I'm some kinda worthless idiot who can't even do my own algebra?'_

Ford. _'Listen, Lee, I'm just trying to help.'_

Stan. _'Well, I'm not a friggin' charity case, Sixer!'_

Dipper looked up and frowned when he saw his uncle rubbing at his eyes. "Grunkle Stan?"

"You can't make it worse, Dipper. She just needs somebody to talk to. Someone to let out all her feelings on." His voice was still weak, but it was also confident. He believed in what he was saying.

Dipper still wasn't sure exactly what his Grunkle Stan was talking about or why he seemed to suddenly know exactly what to do, but there was a certain conviction in his voice that made Dipper feel like he really did know what he was talking about. He nodded at his grunkle, a small smile on his face. "Okay, Grunkle Stan. Thank you."

"Save the sappy stuff, kid," Stan smiled, holding up a hand. "Get up there."

.꙳.꙳.꙳.꙳.

Mabel could feel the friction burning into her arm, and she could see her skin wearing away, but she couldn't connect the two. She couldn't get close enough to tell herself to stop doing this. She couldn't feel her body like it was her own.

She couldn't hear Dipper opening the attic door.

"Mabel?!"

The shock of hearing her brother's voice slammed her back into reality so fast that her head spun. She quickly reached for her sweater and tried pulling it back over her tank top.

Dipper ran over to her and yanked the sweater away before she could get it on, tossing it across the room. "Mabel, are you hurting yourself?" His eyes flickered frantically from her red and burning left arm to the eraser that she held in her shaking right hand. "On _purpose?!"_

"No- I wasn't- no! I wasn't cutting myself or anything! It doesn't count, it's just, I was just... erasing."

"Mabel, look at your arm!" Dipper's voice squeaked. "Look what you did to yourself!"

Dipper being right next to her, speaking anxiously and running his hands quickly through his hair, his breath ragged and his cheeks flushed in fear... it seemed so real. Mabel felt more real than she had in weeks, and she was hit with a tsunami of guilt. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, spilling out over her cheeks. "I- I didn't mean to. I just wanted to feel real, Dipper! I just wanted to feel like myself again."

"Mabel, this is _nothing_ like you!" He looked down at the infected scabs and burns all up and down her arm. "Let's take care of these, okay? And then we can talk."

Mabel wiped her nose on her right arm, sniffling, then she nodded. "Okay." What was the point in fighting? Dipper wasn't going to give up. She knew that.

Dipper got up and kissed his twin on the forehead. "Thank you," he whispered. "I'll go get Grunkle Stan."

"No!" Mabel gasped, grabbing onto Dipper's arm. "You can't tell him!" she pleaded.

"Mabel, these injuries are really bad. I don't know how to take care of them right. I don't even know where all our first aid stuff is. Grunkle Stan will know. We need to tell him." His voice was pleading, desperate.

Mabel bit her lip, hesitating and looking at her arm. It really did look bad... How did she let it get this far? Why didn't she notice how serious it looked? "Okay," she conceded with a sigh, hanging her head.

"Thank you," said Dipper, relief flooding his voice. He was about to leave when he stopped himself and held out a hand to his sister. "Can I have that? For now?"

Mabel looked down at the eraser in her hand that Dipper was asking for. She hadn't noticed until now, but it was less than half the size it had been before she started this whole thing. She nodded and handed it over to him without putting up a fight. She wouldn't need it for a while, anyway.

This all felt way, way too real.


	7. Growing Easy

_I've gone through all of the previous chapters published so far and revised them, tweaking some issues according to your guy's constructive criticism! Thanks so much for your support and for helping me scrape the rust off my creative writing skills. Happy reading!_

A/N: Warning: some major grunkle/neice bonding ahead

꙳꙳

"Grunkle Stan!" Dipper called urgently, flying down the stairs.

Stan looked up at the twelve-year-old, raising his eyebrows. "Dipper? C'mon, you couldn't've talked to her too much. You were up there for two minutes."

"Grunkle Stan, please," Dipper pleaded, running up to the conman, eyes wide and misty. "Where's the first aid kit?"

"First aid kit?" Grunkle Stan tried to suppress the feeling of panic that swirled in his gut. "Is everything okay, kid?"

Dipper shook his head quickly, pulling on his grunkle's arm. "Mabel is hurt. Please help me take care of her."

The old man stood up without asking for more explanation, walking to the bathroom and pulling the first aid kit out of the cabinet before rushing up to the attic. Dipper followed close behind him.

"Please try not to ask her too many questions," Dipper said, frantic. "Everything looks really infected and I don't want to make her so nervous that she pushes us away, I just want her to feel safe and comfortable, I'm so scared Grunkle Stan, I–"

Dipper stopped when he felt a heavy hand on top of his head. He looked up to see his Grunkle Stan watching him with soft, understanding eyes. "It's okay, kid. Now, I know you're worried, but I don't wanna overwhelm her. Couldja go to the living room for me and wait a minute? I'll call you up when Mabel is ready to talk, so she can talk to you."

Biting his lip hesitantly, the younger twin looked down at his feet. He didn't want to leave Mabel alone. Even if Stan was there, he couldn't leave his sister's side. He needed to be there to protect her, to make sure that she was safe. And he didn't want Mabel to feel like he betrayed her by leaving her alone. But eventually, he nodded. He knew that his sister's bond with Stan had been flourishing lately, and maybe she would appreciate some time with him, even if she hadn't wanted him to know about her self destructive habits at first.

Stan smiled down at Dipper and patted him on the head. "I'll take care of her. Promise."

"Okay. Thank you."

"Thank you for tellin' me. We won't be long."

Dipper nodded before heading downstairs, then Stan pushed the door open and poked his head into the kids' room. "Mabel? Sweetie?"

Mabel looked up, sniffling. Now that she was so aware of her surroundings, her arm was intensely painful, the stinging sensation flaring up whenever she moved. But still, she hid it with a pillow when she heard her great uncle come in. "G-Grunkle Stan?"

"Hey, kid. Dipper told me you got hurt."

She nodded, palming at her eyes. "D-did he tell you how?"

Stan shook his head. "I'm not here to ask questions. I just wanna fix you up. Can I come in?"

Mabel nodded again, scooting over on her bed to make room for her grunkle as he walked over, then he sat beside her and opened up the first aid kit. "Alright, sweetie. Can you show me where you got hurt?" he asked, almost afraid to see it. He had no idea what was wrong, but if Dipper's sense of urgency was any indication, it must have been pretty bad.

Mabel bit her lip, hesitating, but she looked into her grunkle's honest, concerned eyes, and she knew that it would be okay. She removed the pillow, wincing when the cold air hit her burns.

Stan widened his eyes, going pale at the sight of her raw and swollen arm. There were spots of blood and long, yellow scabs. Had she stuck her arm in boiling water? "Oh, Mabel," Stan whispered. "One moment, okay? I'm gonna go get a rag and some water to clean this off before we start treating it." He waited for her go-ahead before hurrying out of the room.

He grabbed a hand towel and a bowl of warm water from the kitchen, making significant eye contact with Dipper when they crossed paths. Dipper was the first to look away, not wanting his grunkle to see him cry.

After returning to the attic and sitting back down beside his great neice, Grunkle Stan dipped the cloth in the water and wrung it out, then gingerly wrapped it around her forearm and applied pressure. He stroked her hair soothingly with his free hand when she winced, trying to pull away. "Ow..."

"I know, pun'kin. I'm sorry. But we gotta clean this off before ya get an infection." He pursed his lips, looking down on the more swollen wounds. "Or, before your infection gets worse." After a few minutes, he dipped the cloth into the bowl again, then wrapped it around her upper arm. After that, he pressed it to the back of her hand. Once the wounds were as clean and drained of infection as Stan could manage, he took out some disinfectant spray and held it up. "This is gonna sting, sweetie."

Mabel squirmed, pulling away. "No," she whined. "Grunkle Stan, that stuff hurts."

"Kid, I know you don't want it to hurt," Stan said softly, brushing some hair out of her face. "But you can take it, okay?" He smiled in an attempt to be reassuring. "You're the strongest, bravest gal I ever met. This'll be a piece of cake." He held out his hand for Mabel to take, and when she obliged he sprayed the disinfectant over her hand and wrist, being sure to cover all her scabs and rashes.

Mabel squealed, trying to pull away, but Stan held her hand in an iron grip. "No, stop! I'm okay, it's okay, I don't need it!"

"Hey, hey, it's fine. You'll thank me later." He kept spraying up her arm, and Mabel hissed in pain, squirming.

"Grunkle Stan!" she pleaded, shutting her eyes tight. "It hurts!"

Stan ignored her cries. "It'll only hurt for a second." Once he was finished, he put the spray down, gently blowing cool air over her skin. She flinched and shuddered through aftershocks of pain, sniffling. "See, not so bad, right, kiddo?"

Mabel nodded. She had to admit, the stinging sensation was already almost completely gone, and her arm felt a little better. "Thank you," she mumbled, wiping tears from her cheeks with the hand that her grunkle wasn't holding.

"Don't thank me yet," Stan said softly. He picked up a cotton ball and smeared some neosporin on it. As gently as he could manage, he spread the antibacterial cream over all of her burns. Once that was all taken care of, he pulled out a roll of bandages and pressed the end of it in the palm of Mabel's hand. "Can you hold that there for me, sweetie?"

Mabel nodded, folding her thumb over to hold the gauze in place.

"That's perfect," Grunkle Stan thanked her. Then, he gently started wrapping the bandages around her hand, remembering how he would help Ford wrap his hands before a boxing match. He wrapped the bandages around the twelve-year-old's wrist three times first, then three times around her hand, once more around the wrist, and twice around her thumb. From there, he started wrapping it up her arm, carefully going around her elbow so it wouldn't restrict movement. When he got to her shoulder, he headed back down to get a second layer over her wounds, then cut off the bandage and wrapped some tape around her wrist to secure it. "Okay, kiddo. How's that?"

Mabel experimentally made a fist, then stretched and wiggled her fingers and bent her arm back and forth to make sure she could move comfortably. She was glad to see that she retained all her flexibility, and also that each movement or touch to her arm didn't make her skin burn and sting in protest. "Better," Mabel nodded, a small frown still permanently stuck to her face. "Thanks, Grunkle Stan."

"You're welcome, sweetie," Stan smiled sadly, ruffling her hair. He longed to ask her what happened, how he could help, what was wrong. The assumption that she had done this to herself sat heavily and uncomfortably in the pit of the conman's stomach, and he desperately wanted to be wrong.

He sat there with her for a while, legs spread out and elbows resting on his knees as he slouched over and stared at his hands. The silence seemed to stretch on infinitly. He didn't want to speak until she spoke, but he didn't want to leave unless she asked.

He thought about how worried Dipper was, how confused and afraid. He wanted to reassure him, but that wasn't something that he could do. Mabel was the one who had to talk to him, to clear everything up, to explain what she was feeling.

He thought about how anxious Ford was, stowed away in his lab and putting whatever he had been researching on hold to search for a way to help Mabel, to discover what was wrong with her. But Stan knew that this wasn't anything that could be explained with the supernatural. As great as it would be if they could just figure out something they could kill and instantaneously get Mabel back to her normal, colorful, positive self, Stan looked into her eyes and knew that that wasn't the case. Mabel was lost.

He thought about how he had been lost before. He thought about that night a couple of weeks ago when Mabel had drifted off while watching _Duck-tective_ , how she didn't hear anything when Dipper spoke to her, how far away she seemed when Stan tried to get her attention.

He thought about that night a dozen years ago, sitting in his brother's basement _(his_ basement– Stanford's basement. Stan was Stanford now, and this was _his_ basement and _his_ house and _his_ town and _his_ life and Stanley was dead, now, dead, dead _, dead, dead dead dead.)_ Nearly two decades had passed since That Night, and Stan wasn't any closer to fixing his mistake than he was eighteen years ago. He thought about how he looked at the clock _23_ _:19;_ the green electric numerals were burned into his memory), then stared up at the ceiling and drifted away. He was viewing the world through a thick veil, and through that veil he could see an old man, sleep-deprived and malnourished, messy brown hair going grey at the roots. His unshaven face seemed somewhere stuck between a five o'clock shadow and a short, prickly beard. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt a small voice saying that it was him, that the old man was Stan Pines and he was looking at his own pathetic life. He blinked the world back into focus, looking down at his hands and finally able see them as his own. An empty feeling rose in his stomach as he wondered what had just happened. He looked at the clock, sure to see the same time as before, knowing that only seconds had passed. But the clock disagreed. _02:54._

He thought about how that kept happening for a few days. He thought about how much he must have hated himself for his consciousness to reject his body and dissociate from it, how desperate and confused he felt to be losing himself, about how he would've done just about anything to feel normal again.

He thought about how badly he wanted to think that he wasn't going crazy, that he wasn't the only one in the world who felt like this.

He thought about his great neice sitting beside him, looking down at her hands like they were something estranged from her sense of self, and he thought about how maybe, just maybe, he might understand what she was going through.

"Mabel?" he said softly, his voice a rough disturbance in the silent attic.

She looked up at him, eyes wide, a little distant, but thankfully still _Here._ "Yeah, Grunkle Stan?"

"Do you ever kinda just... get distant? Forget where you are?"


	8. Don't Be Afraid

A/N: only one more chapter after this one!

warning: some MAJOR grunkle/niece bonding ahead!!!!!!!

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"Do you ever kinda just... get distant? Forget where you are?"

Mabel stared up at her grunkle with huge eyes that seemed almost scared to hope. Scared to let herself think that he was really offering a piece of understanding and not mocking her or teasing her. But she looked at him and he was so sincere, so melancholically understanding, but also so _here_ and so _real_ and so _sturdy_ and she had to believe him, she had to trust her uncle, who's always been a rock for her, protecting her and trusting her and letting her do things for him even when they put his hard-earned tough guy reputation at stake.

She threw herself into her grunkle's arms, letting everything go, gripping his suit jacket in desperate little fists as her shoulders racked with sobs. The floodgates were thrown open, and there was no way to close them now.

"I-I just wanna f-feel like myself again, Grunkle St-Stan!" Mabel bawled, burying her face in his shirt. "I didn't wanna h-hurt myself! I thought- I thought using the eraser would m-make it not bad, because I wasn't really h-hurting myself, b-but I kept getting far away, I-I couldn't feel myself, I had to- had to feel pain to come back, b-because everything was so far away! I-I couldn't feel myself. It's- i-it's l-like my body is-isn't m-mine, and I-I-I feel so- so f-far aw-way, and–"

"Shh, shh, Mabel, it's okay." Stan held her close to his chest, stroking her hair slowly. His heart broke to see how much she was falling apart, how desperate she was for someone to understand her. And his broken heart suffered and ached to hear the confirmation that she had given these burns to herself, all the while believing that for some reason, it didn't count. "It's okay. I'm here. I've got you. I'm real."

Mabel just kept wailing against her great uncle, tears seeping through his button-up and creating a wet spot on his chest. Several minutes passed, and when she finally managed to calm herself down enough to speak coherently, though her shoulders still shuddered as she held back her cries, she pulled away and looked up at him through wet, puffy eyes.

"Y-you get far away too?"

Stan nodded, brushing hair out of Mabel's face. "I used to," he confessed. "It's been a long time, though." He glanced away from her, staring at the floor as he started thinking. "Actually... I don't think I've done it since you kids were born. Since I held you two in my arms for the first time." The old man looked back to his niece, the ghost of a smile on his lips. He'd never considered that before. He'd never thought about the fact that holding them was the very thing to bring him back to Earth. These kids have always been his anchor, since the day they were born.

"R-really?" Mabel sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her right hand. A small smile lit up her face, and it tugged on Grunkle Stan's heartstrings. No matter how sad she was, how distressed, she was always quick to brighten when her great uncle exposed his soft side.

"Yeah, it was like, ya know, you runts were so wimpy and pathetic that it brought me into reality forever." He half-heartedly put his front back up, wiping at his eyes to rid them of the tears that threatened to spill over. "Just so I could be disappointed in ya."

Mabel giggled, and oh God, that was music to Stan's ears. That bright, cheery, life-giving sound that always lit up the room. Stan hadn't heard it in almost two weeks.

He gave his niece a tight hug, rubbing small circles into her back. "Now, Mabel," he whispered, voice serious again. "You said something about an eraser..."

"I already gave it to Dipper," she mumbled, deciding reluctantly that her grunkle deserved an explanation, at least to know what Dipper had seen. "I was so far away that I didn't hear him come in while I was... I was..." She glanced over at her bandaged arm, chewing on the inside of her cheek. "Erasing myself," she finished finally. When she continued, her voice was plagued with guilt. "He looked so scared. So worried about me. I-I didn't think that it was a big deal. I wasn't cutting myself or anything. Just... erasing."

Stan felt like someone had punched him in the gut. "Mabel, I think this is somethin' ya gotta talk to your brother about, and I know ya don't wanna talk about it with me anyway, but there is one thing I want ya to understand, okay?" He gently took Mabel by the shoulders and positioned her far enough away that he could look her in the eye.

"O-okay," she said quietly, unsure.

"Just because you're not taking a blade to your skin doesn't mean that you're not hurtin' yourself, or that your problems don't matter. Now, I promised myself when this summer started that I would do my best to protect you kids and I wouldn't let anything hurt you." He pulled her close again, enveloping her in his arms and hugging her small frame tightly. "I know it's awful feelin' far away, like your body isn't attached to your mind anymore. But I can't let ya hurt yourself anymore. I just can't."

Mabel nodded, folding herself into her great uncle and seeking comfort in his strong, warm arms. "I just don't know how else to feel real," she whispered. "I don't know how else to come back."

Her voice was so small, so scared. Stan thought back to the time he held the newborn twins in his arms, how firmly grounded he felt to hear their shallow, innocent breathing, to hear their weak hearts thumping against his arms.

Grunkle Stan carefully placed his hands on either side of Mabel's head and positioned it gingerly over his beating heart. "Do you hear that, Mabel?"

Mabel closed her eyes, concentrating on the ever-so-faint sound inside the old man's chest, listening to it grow louder as she located and honed in on it.

 _Ba bum. Ba bum. Ba bum._

"That's me, kid. I'm real. I'm here."

 _Ba bum. Ba bum. Ba bum._

Mabel focussed on syncing her breath to the rhythm of Grunkle Stan's heart.

 _Ba bum. Ba bum. Ba bum._

"You have one, too, sweetie. No matter how far away you're gettin', it's there. You can always listen to your body's heart and remember who you are."

 _Ba bum. Ba bum. Ba bum._

Her grunkle was right. This was the closest, realest sound that Mabel had ever heard. She lost track of time, just listening to the natural rhythm and counting her breaths. But now, she wasn't losing track of time because she was far away.

She was losing track of time because she was _close._

When Mabel was thoroughly calmed, breath even and cheeks dry, she pulled away from her grunkle just to stand and throw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. "Thank you," she whispered. "I love you, Grunkle Stan."

"Aw, I love you too, pun'kin." After hugging back sincerely for a long moment, he pulled back, swiping a finger under his eye. "Okay, okay. That's enough."

Mabel smiled up at him, knowing how insincere his protests were. But her smile faded when she saw the conman's puffy, red eyes. "Are you crying?"

"Not a chance, kid. I just got some glitter in my eye. Ugh, this dumb room has the stuff floating around everywhere. Don't you ever get sick of it?" He started to stand up, feigning the desire to leave as soon as possible, but he didn't hesitate for a minute when Mabel tugged at his hand, asking to be picked up.

He took her into his arms easily, heading toward the door and nudging it open with his foot. He stopped before descending the stairs and looked down at her. "Okay, kiddo. Ya ready to talk to your brother?"

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 _Please don't hesitate to leave a review! Constructive criticism is always appreciated!!!_


	9. Fitz and the Dizzyspells

A/N: Merry Christmas! I'm gonna post a tenth chapter at the end that's like a big author's note thing because I feel like there's some things that need to be said. I'll post that soon, but for now, happy reading!

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"Good evening, my boy."

Ford came into the kitchen shortly after Stan had returned upstairs after getting a wash cloth and a warm bowl of water for Mabel. The brothers had narrowly avoided having to actually interact with each other.

"Oh, hey, Great Uncle Ford," Dipper said softly, looking up with a small and insincere smile.

Ford frowned when he noticed his nephew's distress. He pulled up a chair and sat down, looking at the boy with concerned eyes. "What's wrong, Dipper?"

"Nothing, it's just..." Dipper hesitated, not sure what he should say. He didn't know if Mabel would want Great Uncle Ford to know anything, and it really wasn't his information to disclose. But eventually, he decided to say, "It's Mabel." He needed someone to talk to.

Ford nodded, sighing deeply. "I'm worried about her, too, kid. But I'm going to figure out what's making her so sad, so distant all the time, and when I do, I can find a way to fix it." Ford just kept telling himself that as long as he could keep the rift safe, it would all be okay.

"You don't understand, Great Uncle Ford," Dipper groaned. "She's not just being sad and distant. She's... She's hurting herself."

Guilt and paranoia seized Ford's rationality as Bill's image appeared in his mind. "He's _hurting_ her?!"

"What? _Who?"_ Dipper looked up at his uncle in confusion and fear. "No, Great Uncle Ford, you don't get it! No one's hurting Mabel except for herself!" All of Dipper's emotions came bubbling up, pressure building in his stomach and heat rising in the back of his throat. He furiously wiped his tears away, ashamed to be crying, especially in front of the author that he admired so much. "She's sad and alone and scared and she won't talk to me, or anyone, or maybe she doesn't feel like she _can_ talk to anyone. And she must be so lost and so desperate and _I_ let it get so far that now she feels like all she can do is burn her friggin' skin off with a _stupid_ rubber eraser!" Dipper threw the sparkly blue eraser stub on the table, too disgusted to hold onto it any longer.

In an instant, all of Ford's apprehension and anxiety melted away. He remembered a several-week period in his sophomore year of highschool when Stan became distant and depressed and wouldn't say more than two words to Ford at a time. He remembered using all of his strength to pull Stan away from where he was smashing his head against the locker room walls after losing an important boxing match. He remembered Stan going out for long walks in the evenings to God-knows-where and returning hours later with bruised and bloodied knuckles that Ford had to help him take care of.

' _What in the world have you been punching, Lee?_ '

' _Trees._ '

' _Oh_ _, come on. Trees never did anything to hurt you._ ' Stanford's tone had been lighthearted and joking.

' _I_ _did._ ' Stanley's tone hadn't been joking. Not at all.

Mabel was depressed, and Ford let his own obsession get in the way of him actually caring for her.

"Where is she now?" he whispered.

"She's still in the attic." Dipper wiped at his nose, avoiding his great uncle's gaze. "Grunkle Stan is taking care of her burns." He choked up as he remembered the severity of Mabel's self-inflicted injuries. "Th-they're really bad."

Of course Stanley was on top of things. Of course he was caring for her, helping her, being a good uncle. He had always been so good with kids.

Ford leaned closer to his nephew and put a hand on his shoulder. "Dipper, I know it can be really hard to see your twin go through something like this. But you're a very good brother. Better than I have ever been. And if you stay by her side each step of the way, and you will, then she will be okay." He bit his lip, thinking. Would Stan have been okay if Ford had been there for him? Could Ford have even done anything more? "I know she'll be okay. Nothing can break the bond that you two have."

Dipper took a shaky breath and threw his arms around his Great Uncle Ford. "Thank you," he muttered into his shoulder.

Ford froze, having no idea how to handle the contact. But when he gave up trying to analyze what to do and just hugged Dipper back, everything came naturally. He pulled Dipper's hat off so he could run a hand soothingly through his hair. "Of course, my boy."

Ford heard the heavy footsteps descending the stairs before Dipper did. He looked up, which prompted the twelve-year-old boy to turn around and watch the staircase expectantly.

Mabel was settled comfortably against her grunkle's chest, positioned so that she could keep listening to his heart. Her bandaged arm was facing outward, and it was the first thing that Dipper saw. He exhaled a deep sigh of relief to know that Mabel was taken care of, to see the proof that she was safe and her injuries were tended to.

Stan smiled at his brother and his nephew, a melancholy sort of smile that Ford immediately recognized. It was relief. It was hope. It was understanding.

"Mabel?" Dipper leapt from Ford's lap.

Mabel sat up and looked at her twin, smiling hesitantly. "Hey, bro-bro. What's up?"

Stan gently set her back down on the floor and instantly Dipper attacked her with a hug. She returned the gesture and they embraced closely. "I'm sorry, Mabel," the boy told her. "I'm so sorry."

"No, Dipper." She shook her head quickly. "You didn't do anything wrong. I just..." She looked up at Grunkle Stan for encouragement, and he nodded, squeezing her shoulder. Then, she looked up at Ford, who was quietly stealing away out the kitchen and toward the vending machine. Mabel frowned. "Great Uncle Ford?"

The researcher froze, looking back at Mabel like a deer trapped in the headlights. He had hoped to sneak away in silence, leaving his great niece to discuss the issues plaguing her around the people whom she trusted and loved.

"Where are you going?"

"I just thought that I would leave you and your brother to discuss things in privacy." He glanced up at Stan, expecting an icy glare, but the conman's expression was softhearted and benign.

Mabel looked down, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. "I know you have a lot of important stuff to do, but... I was kinda hoping I could talk to my whole family about this." She peered back up at him, her big, innocent eyes pleading. "And you're family, too, Grunkle Ford."

Ford's eyes widened hopefully as his heart palpitated in his chest. Neither of the twins had ever called him 'grunkle' before. It had always been Grunkle Stan and Great Uncle Ford. And Ford had accepted that. Over the past few weeks, he had developed a strong fondness for these children, but he'd accepted the very night that he reentered this dimension that he would only ever be family to these kids by blood. He didn't like the idea, necessarily, but he was used to it.

And now here was Mabel, his beautiful, innocent great niece, telling him that he's family. He's Grunkle Ford.

He slowly returned to the table and sat down carefully, as if nervous that making a wrong move could rob him of his new title. He gingerly took Mabel's hand in his and squeezed. "My research can wait, dear. Right now, you are the most important thing to me."

Mabel beamed up at him, cheeks flushing as her eyes lit up. "Thank you."

"Of course," Ford smiled in return. Then, he released Mabel's hand and sat back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap.

Dipper stood beside him, facing his sister. "You can tell us anything, Mabel," he said with confidence. "I just want you to be happy."

Mabel nodded and looked back down, chewing her lip. "I know you guys have noticed this already but... I haven't been myself lately. Sometimes, I'll just kinda... drift away. It's like I'm lost in space."

Dipper frowned in confusion but waited quietly for more explanation. He wouldn't push her away this time. He needed to make sure she was safe.

"It's like I'm not connected. Like my thoughts-stuff and body-stuff aren't the same thing anymore." As she explained, she looked at her family's perplexed expressions and started grasping for better ways to describe what she was feeling. "When I look around me, it's like watching a weird old-timey movie or something. Whatever's supposed to connect in my head to make sure I feel like I really exist just stops connecting... a-and I can't feel anything." Her discomfort visibly increased as she went on, watching Dipper and Grunkle Ford grow more puzzled rather than more enlightened. "It- it's really hard to explain." She looked down, wishing she were still wearing a sweater that she could hide behind.

"Hey, you're doing great, kid." Grunkle Stan gave her a thump on the back, encouraging her to keep going. "It's okay."

"But they don't get it," she sighed, frustrated, looking back to her brother and her Grunkle Ford. "I don't know how to explain it so that you understand."

"We don't have to understand," Dipper said softly. "Whatever you're going through is real, whether we get it or not. I wanna help you, Mabel."

Mabel smiled, rubbing tears out of her eyes as she started choking up again. "Stop being such a sap, Dipper."

The boy chuckled, but then he frowned, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he worked up the nerve to bring up the unspeakable. "This..." He spun his hands in the air, searching for the right words. "This whole dissociation from your consciousness thing. Is that why you've been–" _Hurting yourself?_ The words caught in his throat. He felt the urge to look away as pressure formed behind his eyes, threatening to push out tears, but he made himself look at his sister. She deserved his attention.

"I–" She shuddered, wanting to look away, too. But they had a connection between them, a mutual understanding that they had to face each other, no matter how much they wanted to hide. "It helped remind me that I was real. If it hurt bad enough, I could feel it. I felt real."

Ford felt his heart tear apart, and he looked up at his brother, a bereft expression on his face, almost hoping that Stan would tell him it wasn't true. But the conman nodded sadly, and the look on his face just made Ford's heart ache more. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Dipper was springing forward and wrapping Mabel in his arms, holding her close and tight and safe.

"Mabel, there has to be something else," he begged, stroking her hair as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. "I want you to feel real, but I don't want you to hurt yourself. I'm your twin, and it's my job to make sure you don't get hurt. There _has_ to be something else. There _has_ to be another way to make you feel better again."

She pulled away to look at him, a hopeful mist in her eyes. "Can I feel your heartbeat?"

Dipper frowned for a moment in confusion, but quickly nodded, carefully taking his sister's hand and pressing her fingers under his jaw so she could feel his pulse. "How's that?"

 _Ba bum. Ba bum. Ba bum._

She nodded, smiling with a little sniffle as she counted the rhythm of his beats. "That helps."

 _Ba bum. Ba bum. Ba bum._

"So, will you stop hurting yourself?"

Mabel gave a nod. "Yeah. As long as you're real, I'm real, too."

"Awkward sibling hug?" smiled Dipper hopefully.

"Awkward sibling hug," Mabel agreed, wrapping her arms around him.

Patting each other gently on the backs, they said together, "Pat, pat," then looked up at their grunkles expectantly.

Grunkle Stan was the first one to stoop down. "Yeah, yeah, let me get in there, runts," he said gruffly. "But don't get used to it." He gave Dipper a quick noogie before stealing the niblings into his arms and hoisting them off the ground to hold against his chest.

Ford allowed himself a small laugh as the younger twins shrieked with giggles. "I don't suppose I might join?" he asked, a little hesitant to join the family hug.

"Yes!" Dipper declared wholeheartedly.

Stan quickly reacted with a soft hit to the back of Dipper's head. "No. This is Stan Time."

Mabel whined. "Please, Grunkle Stan? Please?"

Stan pretended to hesitate. "C'mon, Poindexter," he finally sighed with false reluctance, gesturing toward the twins in his arms.

Ford closed in with a wide grin, sandwiching Mabel and Dipper as he hugged his brother.

"See, Mabel?" Dipper giggled, snuggling closer to his sister in the big hug. "We're all here for you."

Mabel nodded, truly feeling like herself for the first time in weeks. It was true: her family was here, and they were with her every step of the way.

Her family was close.

Her family was _real._

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 _Please remember to leave a review! I love getting constructive criticism!_


	10. Author's Notes

_I would really appreciate it if you guys would read all the way through these notes to gain a better understanding of dissociative experiences!_

If nothing else, at the end there's a playlist I put together with songs that remind me of dissociation (and the songs in the playlist correspond to the chapter titles for the fic!) that you could listen to, if you're into my horrible indie taste in music.

This is a little lengthy (a little under the length of a chapter from this fic), but it's really important to me.

So, "Rubber" just started out as an angsty fic for me to channel my negative energy, but I got a lot more reviews and especially PMs than I expected about people being really confused and not understanding what Mabel was going through, assuming it must have something to do with Bill like Ford thought.

Basically, I realized that even fewer people are aware of dissociation/depersonalization/derealization than I thought. And so I thought I'd turn this into a sort of PSA so y'all know about it. I think the symptoms are a lot more common than most people would assume, but no one really knows that there's a word for how they feel.

Mabel was suffering from symptoms of Depersonalization/Derealization Disorder, which is classified under dissociation disorders in the DSM-5.

 **DISCLAIMER:** **_DO NOT SELF DIAGNOSE._** A lot of these symptoms come to people as part of other disorders, such as generalized anxiety, major depressive, attention deficit, attention deficit hyperactive, post-traumatic stress, and bipolar i and ii disorders. Also, a lot of people might have dissociative experiences just on a bad day or even for no particular reason at all. I'm just explaining the experiences and using the context of DPDR to make it easier to explain.

If you feel that you may have a dissociative disorder, or any other disorder for that matter, please talk to someone that you trust to see if you need to speak to a doctor and receive an official diagnosis.

[The following info is from _isst-d (dot) org_ , which is an excellent source for more information on dissociative disorders as a whole.]

 **Dissociation** is: "the disconnection... between things usually associated with each other. Dissociated experiences are not integrated into the usual sense of self, resulting in discontinuities in conscious awareness... Dissociation may affect a person subjectively in the form of 'made' thoughts, feelings, and actions... Or someone may [experience] being a 'passenger' in one's body, rather than the driver."

 **Depersonalization** is: "the sense of being detached from, or 'not in' one's body. This is what is often referred to as an 'out-of-body' experience. However, some people report rather profound alienation from their bodies, a sense that they do not recognize themselves in the mirror, recognize their face, or simply [do not feel] 'connected' to their bodies in ways which are challenging to articulate."

 **Derealization** is: "the sense of the world not being real. Some people say the world looks phony, foggy, far away, or as if seen through a veil. Some people describe seeing the world as if they are detached, or as if they were watching a movie."

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You may have noticed that the chapter titles in the fic don't make any sense at all. That's because each chapter is titled after a song that reminds me of how I feel when I'm dissociating and also reminds me of the events of the chapter or of the fic in general.

 **Youtube link to playlist:** **_t_** ** _inyurl (dot) com/rubbersongs_**

A lot of these songs are very, very close to my heart and some have been for years, since before I knew Gravity Falls existed. A couple have even been important to me since before Gravity Falls _did_ exist, so please refrain from mocking my music taste if you can.

Chapter 1: _Things Fall Apart_ ; Built to Spill

Chapter 2: _Wild Thing_ ; Noah and the Whale

Chapter 3: _Breathe Me_ ; Sia

Chapter 4: _A Lack of Understanding_ ; The Vaccines

Chapter 5: _Better_ ; Regina Spektor

Chapter 6: _Whenever You Breathe Out, I Breathe In_ ; Modest Mouse

Chapter 7: _Growing Easy_ ; Jon Walker

Chapter 8: _Don't Be Afraid_ ; Jon Walker

Chapter 9: _Fitz and the Dizzyspells_ ; Andrew Bird


End file.
